The dawn rises over the silent fields,

and in their midst is a lonely farmhouse.

Abandoned each morning when I arrive,

and sits abandoned when darkness is nigh.

I reach the slot and push the paper in.

I turn and, behold! A shadow flies past.

Silent as a wraith with a ghost’s pale face,

tawny winged, it is the silent hunter;

the hunter of the scurrying below.

I watched its beautiful and silent glide,

as the dawn’s first rays marked eternity.

It faded in and out; a living dream.

All dreams fade and this one quickly followed.

Vanished into twilight; never seen again.

2013 © Christopher Martin
2013 © Christopher Martin

Disclaimer: I do not own the imagery used in this blog post and have no artistic claim to it.

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One thought on “The Owl and The Farmhouse

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